


Flirting With the Alliance Spymaster

by Rasiaa



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Bad Flirting, Flirting, M/M, Mathias is charmed anyway, Or: how Flynn managed to get laid without being very good at flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29731614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasiaa/pseuds/Rasiaa
Summary: Flirting with the Alliance Spymaster is all too rewarding.When this started, though, Flynn had no idea justwhohe was flirting with--only that redheads are hard-pressed to keep from blushing, and that this particular redhead clearly didn't get flirted with very often. A crying shame, that.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70





	Flirting With the Alliance Spymaster

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Been a while. Finally got this wrapped up so here you go--

Flirting with the Alliance Spymaster is all too rewarding.

When this started, though, Flynn had no idea just _who_ he was flirting with--only that redheads are hard-pressed to keep from blushing, and that this particular redhead clearly didn't get flirted with very often. A crying shame, that.

To start with, the redhead is sitting in the corner of the bar, people watching. Or at least that's what Flynn assumes he's doing, since he's not actively drinking whatever's in his cup and his eyes--a frankly stunning green that makes Flynn a little dizzy--flicker rapidly from patron to patron. He's alone and--honestly? He seems somehow familiar and Flynn is usually not that bad with faces, but apparently not this time.

But hey, what the hell. What's he got to lose? Other than a chance to have the redhead underneath him in bed, flushed and calling Flynn's name as he--

Anyway.

He slides into the chair across from the man with a smile. "Can I refill your drink, handsome?" Flynn asks immediately, watching the man's eyes widen for a half a second before his expression clears.

"Beg pardon?" 

\--is not the answer Flynn expected, but that's what he gets so he rolls with it.

"Do you want another drink?" Flynn rephrases, pointedly looking to the man's empty cup. "I'll buy." And, because he knows full well he's got nothing to lose and this man looks one breath away from declining, "Darling, I'll even get something from the top shelf if you want it."

"You-- _what_ \--"

Flynn nudges the man's foot with the toe of his boot under the table, leaning forward, and hey--that's what does it; the man's face turns bright red and he looks at Flynn like he's got another head. Flynn's smile softens, and he admits to himself that even if this doesn't end with sex, he'll be pretty damn pleased anyway, getting a reaction like that. It's not one he sees very often.

"I'm Flynn," he says, and holds out his hand. For a long second, the man just stares at him, evidently still caught off-guard, but then he recovers--best he can, anyway, with the blush still on his face--and shakes his hand.

"Matt," he says, and Flynn has no reason to doubt it. "And--thank you for the offer, but I--" For some reason, he falters, and then takes a deep breath. "Actually, you know what? Maybe I will take that drink, but you don't have to buy the expensive stuff."

"Sweetie, I've no doubt you deserve it," Flynn says, genuinely not intending to make Matt flustered again, but that's exactly what happens--even in the dark of the candlelight, Flynn can see Matt's face get even redder.

Interesting. And lovely, really.

...

And so it goes.

Flynn is getting paid quite a bit from the Alliance, with checks signed from a _Mathias Shaw_ detailing more gold than he's made in his entire life. So, it's no problem to buy drinks and dinner for Matt whenever they cross paths. Matt puts up a fight at first, but after a couple of weeks, seems to resign himself to being treated. It makes Flynn far happier than he'd like to say.

Matt is from the mainland, as evidenced by a thick Stormwind accent that becomes more apparent as time goes on, and a business he tells Flynn he wants to expand into Kul Tiras for the culture. What exactly the business entails, Flynn isn't sure--Matt has a way of talking in circles, apparently, saying many, many words, but nothing at all of importance.

Flynn finds Matt in that same corner of the bar at least once but no more than three times a week, at random intervals. He's always dressed in warmer clothing than what Flynn would prefer, and in dark colors. As the winter approaches, Matt looks more and more stressed and cold, and so is less receptive to Flynn's flirtations. No matter what Flynn says, he can never get any answer from Matt as to what the problem is.

In the end, he supposes it's not really his business--they're not together, and Matt technically doesn't owe him anything, despite the food and drink. Flynn has made that very clear.

Every 'darling', or 'sweetheart', makes Matt blush to the roots of his hair, so Flynn keeps saying it, delighted. It's so easy, and Matt doesn't seem to mind all that much--interesting to note, since advances from other men and women alike are met with icy glares that could freeze the harbor.

And through it all, Flynn, for the life of him, can't figure out what makes Matt seem so familiar.

Surely he'd recognize eyes like that?

...

"Let me guess, the barkeep threw you out after that?" Matt says dryly, eyebrows raised.

Flynn beams at him. "Nope! I got a free drink, actually. She said it was the most entertainment she'd seen in weeks."

"Unbelievable," Matt mutters, reaching for his drink. He's looking somewhere over Flynn's shoulder.

"Sweetheart, surely you've learned to believe all my stories by now?" Flynn asks, laughing, as he nudges Matt's foot with his own under the table.

Matt shakes his head as red blooms across his cheeks, just as lovely as every other time before.

Flynn needs to be careful, before he falls too fast, too hard, for this man who is still practically a stranger.

Then Matt looks at him again, and Flynn knows it's far too late.

"I don't know, Captain... some things are too strange to take at face value."

"Or just strange enough to be true. Can't make this stuff up, love."

Matt rolls his eyes. He doesn't say anything to that, casting his eyes around the bar again, distracted. The blush stubbornly remains on his face, though, and Flynn--

\--well.

Flynn's got nothing to lose.

"Say, love. You seem a little wound up. What do you say about getting outta here?" he asks, aiming for casual. Matt's eyes snap to his, suddenly alert and more attentive than he's been all night.

"What?" he says, voice flat.

Not the reaction Flynn was hoping for, honestly. He thought, after all this flirting, getting Matt into bed would be easy. Guess not, but hey--nothing like a challenge. He leans forward on his elbows and nudges his drink aside. "Come back to my place. I'll help you... unwind," he says, raising his eyebrows and smirking just slightly.

Matt scoffs.

" _By the Light_ ," he mutters, glancing down but looking at Flynn from under his lashes. "Please tell me people don't fall for that one."

"Hey! I'll have you know I get loads of lads and lassies with that one," he says, dropping the act for indignation. This is not going as planned.

Matt just blinks at him, eyebrows raised. "Really," he says.

"Well, of course. No one can resist," Flynn replies, trying to save face by injecting light to his voice. Matt's eyes soften, a little smile on his lips. "See, not even you," he finishes, tangling their ankles together, reaching out to rest his fingers on Matt's wrist. It's the most they've ever touched and Flynn's heartbeat picks up. Matt looks at Flynn's hand but doesn't protest, red creeping across his cheeks again.

"Well, you might be right," Matt says eventually, pointedly sipping from his drink, but their eyes meet and there's a challenge there. "Try again, and let's see how it goes."

Flynn blinks, surprised, but the smile comes easily enough. "Let's get outta here, shall we?"

Matt opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, leaning away. Flynn watches someone appear from nowhere to slip something to Matt, something that gets glanced at then pocketed without anymore indication that the exchange ever happened.

"What--" Flynn starts.

"Let's go," Matt says. Flynn's sentence dies.

"Okay," he says instead, standing. He offers a hand to Matt, who takes it.

They leave the bar and Flynn guides him to his flat around a few corners--unfortunately it's in Dampwick Ward, but hopefully Matt overlooks it. He doesn't seem to; Flynn can practically feel the man's walls go up the minute they enter the area.

"I'll keep you safe," Flynn says carelessly, glancing over his shoulder.

Matt bristles. "I can keep myself safe, thank you for your concern," he snipes, on edge and ready for a fight. Not how Flynn wants the evening to go.

"I'm sure you can," he answers hurriedly, "Sorry. Didn't mean to imply--"

"I know," Matt says, looking away. "Where's your place?"

"Just here." Flynn leads him up the stairs to the upper level of the building and through his front door. It's a small apartment, just one room with a bed and a farce of a kitchen, but it works well enough considering most of his time is spent at sea. Something tells him though Matt wouldn't be okay fucking on a boat.

He shuts the door behind him and Matt looks at it. "...there's no lock," he says slowly.

"Nope. Damn thing broke years ago."

"And you sleep here anyway?" Matt looks incredulous. "You're joking."

"Nothing here worth stealing and even when I'm drunk, people don't wanna fight me, mate. I'm fine."

Flynn lightly touches Matt's face to redirect his attention. It barely works; Matt keeps shooting the door suspicious glances every couple of seconds. So Flynn leans down and kisses him.

Matt stiffens for a moment before he kisses back, hesitantly resting his hands on Flynn's shoulders. Flynn pulls him backward to the bed, fumbling with the coat Matt's wearing. It's heavy and has far too many buttons. He gets it off just before they reach the bed. Flynn sits down and pulls Matt onto his lap; the man straddles him obligingly, looking more comfortable. He glances at the door.

"Hey. No one's coming in here. People fuck in these apartments all the time. No one wants to see that," Flynn says, trying lighten the atmosphere. Matt shoots him a dry look.

"Gee, that's reassuring," he says sardonically. Flynn laughs, pulling him in for another kiss.

"Figured it would be!"

Matt sighs into the kiss and starts picking at clothes; between the two of them it's not long before Flynn starts pulling knife after knife after knife from Matt's body. "What the hell, mate?" he asks, tugging at what looks like a vial of poison that's hanging from Matt's hip. "Why'd you need this?"

"When you live my life, you need those things," is the answer. Matt gets off of him, which is unfortunate until he starts stripping, much faster than Flynn could've ever done it. He pauses just as he's about to slide off his underwear. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

Flynn jumps slightly. "Ah, yes sir!" he says, shimmying out of his clothes with renewed urgency. Matt shakes his head and pushes him back onto the bed once they're both naked. He's got a vial of clear liquid in his hands that he pulled from one of the many pockets in his clothes.

The look in his eyes is dark, hungry. Flynn swallows and shifts until he can get the blankets out from underneath him onto the floor. "Hope you're ready for what you've asked for," Matt says quietly, leaning over him. He trails his fingers over Flynn's chest and stomach, down to his cock, which he then grips firmly. Flynn sucks in a breath that makes the other man smirk as he starts to stroke.

"I've been ready," Flynn says, a little breathless. The green of Matt's eyes has been nearly eclipsed by the darkness of his pupils, but his breath is steady. Unfair. "Fuck me."

Matt raises his eyebrows, but uncorks the vial. He pours some of the liquid onto his fingers as Flynn spreads his legs. Matt preps him irritatingly slowly, not breaking eye contact at all. It's strangely intimate, making him feel more exposed than ever. So when they finally do get to the fucking, the fast pace Matt sets is a shock, one that takes his breath away.

And when it's over, Matt panting next to him, Flynn stares at the ceiling and acknowledges that he's really screwed, beyond the literal.

...

Now, Flynn sees Matt in this bar anywhere from one to three times a week, and they go back to Flynn's to fuck every other time.

So it goes, for another two months.

Then Matt doesn't come back.

One week turns into two, then into three and soon a month has gone by, and Flynn sits at what had unofficially been their table, wondering what happened, heartbroken despite himself.

...

"You wanted to see me?"

Wyrmbane looks up. His face is concealed by the ridiculous helmet, so Flynn has no idea what to expect. He's nervous; the Alliance pays him to be at sea, not be on their boat. He can't imagine what they want.

"Ah, Captain Fairwind. Thank you for coming. I have a mission for you."

"A mission? For me?" he says, unbelieving. He blinks dubiously at the commander, who ignores this reaction, flipping through the papers on the table until he finds what he's looking for.

"Yes. I need you to accompany Master Shaw and one of our champions to retrieve an artifact from the Horde treasury in Zandalar."

Flynn takes the missive numbly, reading it over without absorbing the contents. "You sure you want me doing this?" he checks, looking up.

"Master Shaw asked for someone competent; you've proven yourself to be just that. We have no one else," the commander explains shortly, going back to his papers. "I expect you here again at dawn tomorrow, Captain. Have a good evening."

And thus dismissed, Flynn makes his way off the _Wind's Redemption_ , fully equipped with the knowledge that while the Alliance thinks he's at least somewhat of an asset, he's not their first choice. Makes sense. Hurts a bit, but whatever.

He stumbles a bit when he gets onto the dock, only because he meets startlingly green eyes less than a foot away from him. "Matt?" he asks, surprised.

The night elf behind him cocks her head to the side, but Matt stares at him unblinkingly. "Captain," he says shortly.

Flynn looks him over, taking in the uniform and obviously poisoned daggers at his hips, lingering on their shine--or, rather, something nearby, but details, whatever--before dragging his gaze back to Matt's face. He's disappointed to note that Matt's not blushing like he usually does when Flynn looks him over.

"If you'll excuse us, Captain," Matt says after a moment, sliding by. Their hands brush as he passes, and Flynn's heart jumps. "As I was saying, Shadowblade..."

Flynn turns to look at the Alliance ship, wondering who the hell he's been fucking these past several weeks.

...

"Captain Fairwind, might I introduce Master Mathias Shaw?" Umbric says airily, as the Void Elves do. He gestures to a very familiar figure, one Flynn had never expected to see in this tide-forsaken jungle.

"Mathias Shaw?" he repeats. He knows that name. _Mathias Shaw_ signs his fucking paychecks.

The man in question just looks at him, not blankly, but with a look Flynn can't decode. Flynn's still reeling from the trip via the void portal--not something he wants to do again anytime soon, but that he's been assured will be happening again as soon as this wayward champion decides to make herself known--so finding _Matt_ of all people in this tiny, dangerous Alliance base is not what he was prepared for. If he was prepared for anything, it was a chance to rob the Horde blind. Not visit with an old fuck.

"Flynn," Matt--no, _Mathias_ \--greets him quietly. "Magister, if you would...?" He points behind himself to a collection of gnomes surrounding chickens. Umbric rolls his eyes and disappears.

Mathias steps closer, lowering his voice. "Flynn," he says again. "I--"

"Hope you're going to apologize," Flynn cuts in, crossing his arms. "What the hell, mate?"

"I had no choice. I can't just give out my identity to any pretty face I come across," Mathias snaps, also going on the defensive.

"No, no, I get that. Mathias Shaw is some spy, right? That's the rumor, anyway. If it's true I know why you lied to me. I _mean_ \--what the hell with the disappearing act? I was looking for you for _weeks_!"

Mathias pauses, blinking. Flynn fights back a victorious smile for catching the man off guard. Then another thing Mathias said catches up to him. "Wait, you think I'm pretty?"

At this, Mathias takes in a deep breath, casting his eyes to the sky. Flynn can't suppress the smile this time.

"That is--not the point," Mathias answers carefully, not denying it. Flynn's smile grows. "Oh, stop. Yes, I was going to apologize. First, for lying to you, though it seems you understand the necessity; and then for 'the disappearing act'. I was called back to Stormwind briefly. I had no time to warn you."

"No harm done, love," Flynn says, shrugging it off. "Glad to know you hadn't forgotten me, at least."

"To be frank, I don't know how anyone could. Forget you, I mean," Mathias answers, looking thrown by the term of endearment.

"Aw," Flynn coos, leaning forward. He carefully lays his hands on Mathias's waist, pulling him in, avoiding the poisoned daggers best he can. "How sweet are you," he sing-songs, still quiet, and he delights in the red flush that darkens Mathias's skin.

"Captain, we are _at work_ \--"

"At least I know it's still easy to rile you up," Flynn interrupts, lifting one hand to brush his knuckle along Mathias's cheek. "My place after this?"

"Assuming we survive," Mathias snaps, looking acutely uncertain.

"Master Shaw! Captain! The Shadowblade incoming!"

Mathias steps back immediately. Flynn is astounded by how quickly a mask slams into place, the blush disappearing almost as quickly as it came. Mathias clears his throat. "I assume you were debriefed?" he checks, voice calm and even.

"I--yes. I had a missive," Flynn says, slightly thrown by the change of subject.

"Excellent. Let's get this over with, then."

"Then my place?"

A sigh. "Yes, I suppose that will suffice."

"Oh, don't flatter me too much."

Flynn is sure he doesn't imagine the ghost of a smile on Mathias's face.


End file.
